Ungodly Forces
by images-in-words
Summary: In a world where feisty cheerleader Santana Lopez has insulted a powerful fifth-level demon, there's only one person in Lima to whom she can turn for help - her fellow Glee club member Rachel Berry, who just happens to be, in secret, a highly trained demon fighter. Now Rachel must swear an oath to protect Santana at all costs. (AU)
1. Chapter 1

**Ungodly Forces**

 _In a world where feisty cheerleader Santana Lopez has unwittingly insulted an immensely powerful fifth-level demon, there's only one person in the entire town of Lima to whom she can turn for help...her fellow Glee club member Rachel Berry. Rachel is the supremely talented star of McKinley High School's_ _ **New Directions**_ _– she's also loud, opinionated, and a little bossy sometimes. Luckily for Santana, she also happens to be, unbeknownst to the rest of the student population, a fierce, highly trained and magically empowered demon fighter. Rachel and Santana have been developing a unique, sometimes rocky friendship ever since the cheerleader joined the glee club (along with her fellow Cheerios, captain Quinn Fabray and best friend Brittany S. Pierce), but with the threat of the demon hanging over Santana, Rachel, as Lima's guardian against demons, must now swear an oath to protect her at all costs – possibly even that of her own life._

 **Prelude: A Side of Rachel You Never Knew**

Santana felt nervous as she stood outside Rachel's front door. She hated feeling nervous; it was not a feeling she was used to experiencing. Like many other things, it pissed her off. Not only was she nervous, she was _angry_. Angry at herself, angry at the situation - but most of all, she was angry that she actually needed help from _Rachel,_ of all people. She was someone who could - and usually did - solve her own problems, but this...this wasn't something she could handle herself, much as she was loathe to admit it. Still, as she tapped her foot and waited for the pint-sized diva to answer the door, she reminded herself for approximately the hundredth time that morning that she needed to be nice – well, as nice as she _could_ be, anyway – to the girl, because like it or not, Rachel was apparently the only thing standing between her soul and the dark oblivion of some horrific netherworld.

At least, that was kind of the impression Rachel had given her.

She thought back to the conversation they'd had the previous day in the bathroom at school – because that was where all important student business seemed to be conducted within the walls of McKinley – when Rachel had walked into the empty facility, caught her staring numbly at her reflection in the mirror and said:

 _"You look..._ troubled _, Santana. How can I help you?"_

 _"Help me? You?" Santana scoffed, taking in all of Rachel's barely more than five foot frame and shuddering at the memory of the demon's terrifying bulk, recalling the moment when it had revealed its true form to her. "Yeah, I don't think so, short stack. Don't you have a show tune to torture somewhere?"_

 _Rachel's keen eye didn't miss the way Santana had shaken ever so slightly as she'd spoken, nor did her ears fail to notice the tension in her voice. Something had happened to the Cheerio, something bad, and her other senses instantly detected the true nature of what that something was._

 _"Singing is just one of the many things I do, Santana. For instance, it may interest you to know that as the daughter of Lima's foremost paranormal experts – my dads, of course – I am quite well-versed and knowledgeable in all forms of demon lore. And as such, I must tell you that fifth-level demons are nothing to trifle with. As you would know if you'd read the copy of my fathers' book that I gave to you and everyone else in the glee club at the beginning of the school year."_

 _Santana's eyes widened and her jaw dropped, but she quickly schooled her features back into the familiar mask of cool indifference bordering on thinly veiled contempt that ninety-nine percent of the school populace knew as her default expression. It generally managed to keep the denizens of McKinley High School at arm's length, but for some reason, Rachel Berry had always seemed immune to it, much to her annoyance._

 _"Are you on_ drugs? _Seriously, what the hell are you_ talking _about?" She backed away from the sink, angled her body towards the door. "Maybe I should go get the nurse. I think you might have a fever, because you're sounding even more delirious than usual right now."_

 _Rachel moved in front of her, blocking the door. "Santana,_ please _. This is no time for your usual bravado. I can smell its scent on you." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Look, I can help you with this. In fact, I'm the only person who can help you with this. You just have to trust me."_

 _Looking into the shorter girl's large, luminous brown eyes, Santana saw only the raw honesty for which Rachel had become known. She bit her lip, wondering if she could truly trust her, hoping against hope, as a convict on death row hopes for a call from the governor, that what she said was true._ What do I have to lose? _she thought._ Berry's got no reason to lie, right?

 _"Okay, Thumbelina," she said with a sigh, shaking her head. "I'll tell you what happened. See, it all started when -"_

 _Rachel cut her off with a sharp stop gesture. "No. Don't speak of it here. We don't want to draw its attention. It would be...unwise to inflame its anger any further at this point." She held out her other hand, palm up. "Give me your phone."_

 _"What? Why?" Santana asked, puzzled. "And how do you know that it's...angry with me?"_

 _"Just_ give it to me." _She looked up at Santana with a fire in her eyes that the Cheerio had never seen before. "_ Now _, please? We don't have a whole lot of time here. You're in grave danger. Also, third period will be starting soon, and I'd rather not be late."_

 _Santana found herself strangely intrigued by the commanding tone of Rachel's voice. She'd bossed everyone around in Glee plenty of times, but never had she sounded quite like that. She hated to admit it, but it was kind of..._ hot _. She shook her head, annoyed at her body's reaction, and grabbed the backpack that lay on the floor at her feet, to place it on top of the sink. She then pulled out her phone and placed it in Rachel's palm, drawing a smile from the smaller girl._

 _"Thank you, Santana, for trusting me." She tapped the screen a few times, typing furiously, then handed the device back. "That's my phone number and address. Come to my house tomorrow and we'll discuss things then."_

 _"I have Saturday morning Cheerios practice. No way Coach Sue will let me miss it. She'd make me run laps forever if I even suggested it."_

 _"Then come after that," Rachel replied. Her voice then dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "And come alone. Seriously. Don't bring Brittany or Quinn. No one else can know. Promise me. It's important."_

 _Santana chuckled. "Are you gonna make me pinky swear too, Rachel?" she asked lightly._

 _Crossing her arms over her chest, Rachel glared at her and spoke again in that strangely compelling tone. "Promise me, Santana."_

 _Santana raised her hands in the universal gesture of surrender and then crossed her heart, rolling her eyes as she completed the sign. "Okay, fine. Whatever. I promise, or solemnly swear, or whatever."_

 _The expression on the Glee Club star's face was grave as she nodded. "I guess that will have to do," she said. "The bell is about to ring. I'll see you in Glee. And remember – bring no one."_

 _"Yeah, yeah. I got it," Santana growled, turning her head to put her phone back in her bag. "Come alone. Later, fun size." When she raised her eyes again, the other girl was gone._

 _She'd never even heard the door open or close. It was as though Rachel had just vanished. What the hell - ?_

 _"Ay, dios mio," she murmured to herself as she shouldered her backpack on over her Cheerios jacket. "What the hell have I gotten myself into?"_

* * *

That thought was reverberating in her brain yet again when the door finally opened in answer to her third ring of the doorbell. What she saw then caused her brain to completely short-circuit, and she was embarrassingly unsuccessful in stifling the gasp that accompanied her stare.

Rachel stood in the doorway wearing only a sports bra and a pair of skintight, sinfully short workout shorts, sweaty and glistening. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a high pony tail, which was not a style she was known to wear in school. More shockingly, her body was all tanned skin and lean muscle _,_ featuring the most amazing set of chiseled abs Santana had ever seen. The Cheerio's mouth went uncomfortably dry, and she suddenly felt very warm, and a little dizzy.

The diminutive diva frowned at Santana's open-mouthed, unabashed stare, then remembered her manners as a gracious hostess, opening the door more widely and stepping aside to grant her guest entrance. "I'm sorry," she said. "I was...concentrating on something and the ringing of the doorbell didn't quite penetrate immediately. Please, come in."

Santana's jaw snapped shut and she stepped inside without a word, still too stunned to speak. Part of her brain screamed at her to avert her gaze, to look somewhere, anywhere else, at anything but Rachel's sculpted, well-defined physique - but a stronger, larger part of her brain steadfastly ignored that plea, and she simply could not tear her eyes away.

 _Holy crap! Hobbit is in **serious** shape. But how the hell has she managed to hide such a rockin' body all this time? And **why?** I mean, damn,_ _you'd think she'd want to show it off_ _\- just look at those thighs, those arms and shoulders! And oh my God, those_ abs _...wow. I can't believe I'm thinking this, but yeah, I gotta admit - Rachel is **hot**._

At last her mind rebooted, but not completely, and she heard herself say, "Jeez, Rachel. When did _you_ start working out?"

"When I was five," Rachel replied matter-of-factly. "May I take your jacket?"

"Uh...oh, um, yeah. Thanks." Santana shrugged herself out of her Cheerios hoodie, and her eyes followed the perfect curve of Rachel's surprisingly large, shapely bicep as the girl took the jacket from her, tracing the raised vein that ran along the hard muscle, unaware that she was licking her lips as she did so. Her mind reeled, and she was lost in thought, wondering how this could possibly be the same girl that walked the halls of McKinley High in billowy blouses and loose-fitting pants.

The sound of Rachel clearing her throat snapped her back to reality, and she blushed, finally looking around and taking notice of the walls of Rachel's house, which were covered with pictures of the girl and her two clearly adoring fathers.

"Nice place you've got here," she said absently. "Thanks for having me over. It'll be a relief to finally talk about... _you know_...with someone."

Rachel's eyes regarded the Cheerio softly; she could see how worried the girl was, no matter how she tried to hide it. "I know. Obviously, you have questions – not the least of which are concerning my current appearance and attire – and I'll be happy to answer them." She tilted her head and pointed down the hallway. " _Downstairs._ "

Once again, Santana felt something quiver in her lower abdomen at that strangely irresistible tone in Rachel's voice. "Um, sure. Okay. Whatever you say, short and stacked." She bowed her head, covering her face with one hand, lamely attempting to keep the other girl from seeing the furious blush coloring her caramel cheeks. "I mean, lead the way."

"Are you all right, Santana?" Rachel asked, frowning slightly. "You look a little flushed. I've always thought that Coach Sylvester works you Cheerios too hard. I'll get you some water once we're downstairs." She turned and began walking, oblivious to the widening eyes that followed the sway of her hips as she moved briskly down the hallway. "Come on," she called.

 _Oh, lord. She should never wear anything but those shorts ever again._

"Yes, ma'am. Right behind you," she said quietly, a smirk pulling up the corners of her mouth. All thoughts of mortal peril were pushed aside, and she took her time following the Glee Club star. Things had just gotten a _whole_ lot more interesting.

* * *

 **A/N: As always, I own nothing. I want to dedicate this story to the one and only** **purrpickle, who so graciously allowed me to take this prompt and run with it. Thank you for the many hours of conversation we've had about this story. I can only hope that the end product will make you proud.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ungodly Forces**

 _ **Chapter One: Rachel's Basement is a Nice Place to Visit, But You Wouldn't Want to Live There**_

 **From the diary of Santana Lopez:**

The stairway that led down to Rachel's basement was dark, with barely enough light to see by. I gripped the railing with white knuckles, terrified of falling – something Coach Sue would definitely not approve of - while the Glee Club's resident hobbit skipped along as though she had a spotlight illuminating each step for her alone. Which, you know, she may have actually had, come to think of it. This _is_ Rachel we're talking about.

"Hey, Rachel," I called in the dimness. "How about some lights up in here? I don't really feel like breaking my neck today."

"Oh!" I heard her say. "I'm so sorry, Santana. I'm so used to navigating these steps without them that I don't even think about it anymore." Her fingers snapped, and the next thing I knew, the stairway was illuminated by a set of evenly spaced torches set in sconces (yeah, I had to look up the right word – sue me) all along the walls above our heads.

That's right, I said _torches._ And that wasn't even the weirdest part of the deal, not by a long shot (as I would soon see). Still, even though I knew I'd probably regret asking, I gave voice to the question that jumped to the front of my mind anyway.

"Rachel, why the _fuck_ are there torches in the walls? Do your dads have a habit of not paying the electric bill or something?"

She chuckled at the question as though there was absolutely nothing weird at all about part of her house resembling something out of a monster movie, or a particularly depressing episode of _Game of Thrones._ I began to wonder if she'd lured me down here only to chain me to a wall and force me to listen to her sing the entire Streisand catalog, front to back.

(Then again, I thought, as long as she did it while she wearing her current outfit, that might not be such a bad thing.)

"My fathers are quite financially solvent, actually," she replied in that _I know so much more than you_ kind of way she has, "but in addition to being a much more efficient source of light and heat for this portion of the house, the torches serve a very important purpose, one that would of course not be readily apparent to one who's lacking in knowledge of things arcane."

I groaned at the paragraph of Berry-speak. "At the risk of boring myself to the point where I decide that throwing myself down these steps would be a _good_ idea, I'm gonna ask you what that 'very important purpose' is." I looked at my feet and then realized that the steps were made of stone. "And _then_ you're gonna tell me why we're walking on _stone,_ and not wood or some more modern material."

The stairway seemed to go on forever as I waited for Rachel to answer. I had to admit I was glad for the warmth the torches provided, although their presence still freaked me out a little. The dull _slap_ of footsteps on stone echoed a little too loudly in the silent space occupied by mini-Streisand gathering her thoughts, deciding how she wanted to answer my question. Yes, I know her that well – even though Rachel's back (her _strong, sexy_ back) was turned to me, I could just see the _give me a minute, I'm thinking_ expression she always has on her face when she's choosing her words. Like so much else about Rachel Berry, it's kind of annoying, but so much a part of her that I can't imagine her any other way.

"They're... _protective_. The torches _and_ the stone," Rachel finally answered, speaking slowly, the way she might if she were trying to explain the intricacies of the international stock market to Brittany. "They help to protect us and the house from things _within_ and _without_."

My blood ran cold at that, despite the cheerful flames crackling above our heads, and I shivered at the thought of needing to be _protected_ against something in my own home.

"Um...would you mind telling me exactly what _that_ means, Hermione?" I asked, hugging myself with the arm that wasn't holding onto the handrail. "And how freaking long _is_ this stairway, anyway? I feel like we've been walking downstairs for fifteen minutes already."

"You know, I've always wondered what those books would have been like if the protagonist had been female. They might not have sold as well, but they might have been even more important works." Her bare shoulders went and down in a shrug. "I guess we'll never know. In any event, it's better to be the heroines in our own stories anyway. Wouldn't you agree?"

I was about to take off one of my specially designed Cheerios Nike sneakers and launch it at Rachel's head, _protection_ or no, when she suddenly stopped and turned to me with a smile that was completely unlike the 'show smile' I was so used to seeing from her in Glee. This smile was so real, so warm and genuine, but no less white and dazzling, that it made my knees a little weak. Or maybe that was just the result of the hundred or so stone steps we'd just walked down, right after I'd endured one of Coach Sue's insane practice sessions.

"I'm so excited!" she exclaimed. "I've never had anybody down here before. There are good reasons for that, of course, but still – it's so nice to share this part of me with a friend, after keeping it a secret for so long." She opened her arms wide. "I'm going to hug you now."

Before I could even begin to protest, I was trapped in the embrace of all one hundred and two pounds of Rachel Berry, her powerful arms squeezing the breath out of me. Now I knew what her workouts had done for her besides make her look insanely hot – they'd made her ridiculously strong. I actually felt my feet leave the ground as she hugged me, and had to gasp out, "Rachel – _please_ – my ribs," to get her to ease off just a bit.

"Sorry," she said, her face still buried in my shoulder. I sucked in a huge gulp of air as I felt the pressure ease. "I – I'm just so happy! Thank you, Santana, for trusting and believing in me. I assure you, I won't let you down."

"You're welcome, short stack. Thanks for caring."

I melted into her embrace then, oddly touched by the sincerity in her words, enjoying the reassuring strength in her hold. My hands traced lazy patterns along her back and shoulders, reveling in the layers of muscle they found there. They traveled further down along her sides, coming together below her waist, to rest on her -

" _Santana_. Is it...customary for you to put your hands... _there,_ when you hug people?"

I lifted my hands as though they'd been burned, but Rachel held fast.

"Didn't say I minded it."

 _Oh._ My hands resumed their former position, and I felt a kind of warmth kindle inside me that had nothing to do with the torches – a warmth I hadn't felt since before Brittany and I ended things a couple of months ago. A warmth I'd badly missed. "Well, in that case..." Damn Rachel and her amazing body, pressed so firmly against mine, with all that soft skin and oh so sexy muscle readily available to touch.

We stayed like that for another minute or so, and then Rachel stepped back. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Her smile now was soft, almost shy; she looked down at her feet as I stared at her, taking in her vulnerable stance, her subtle beauty. In that moment, I saw the fragility within her, for all her strength, and it both surprised and puzzled me. This was another side of her I hadn't seen before.

She cleared her throat, wiped at her eyes, and when she looked back up at me, the vulnerability I'd seen was gone, replaced by the look of determination that was all too familiar to every one of us in the New Directions. She was all business now, and I knew that it was time for me to put away the...other thoughts I'd been having about her, and get down to the reason why I was there in the first place.

But before I could begin to speak, I suddenly felt compelled to take in my surroundings. The space was huge; it felt as though it was too large for the house to contain it. Ancient paintings and tapestries, things far older than I could comprehend, hung high on the walls, above shelf after shelf of large, heavy books with black or brown leather bindings, and on each shelf there were sculptures that looked like gargoyles or dragons or other, stranger creatures that I imagine someone wouldn't recognize without an advanced degree in medieval studies, or at least without having read all of _The Lord of the Rings._ In the center of the room, behind where Rachel stood, there was something that looked like an enormous podium, on which sat the biggest book I'd ever seen in my life.

"This place is...really, really creepy, Rachel. Where's the stage, the karaoke system, the projection screen TV? The plush couches?" I asked, remembering another, far different Berry family basement – the place where she'd held a very poorly planned out party for everyone in Glee, resulting in multiple hangovers and the most memorable performance of a Ke$ha song in the history of McKinley.

Rachel let out a full, throaty laugh, the kind we rarely heard from her in Glee, and I kind of – okay, _really_ – liked the huskiness of it, so different from the controlled, measured tones of her speaking voice. Immediately, I wanted to hear it again.

"This is...not exactly your average, everyday basement. It's more like its own little pocket dimension. Kind of a spatial displacement field, if you will," she explained, gesturing around the room with her hands. "Large enough for both the entertainment area – the area you remember from that unfortunate party I hosted – this library, and my workout space, yet small enough to fit within the foundation of this house. Very useful, wouldn't you say? Cost my fathers a small fortune, but well worth it."

"Yeah, I understood approximately none of that," I said, shaking my head. "You're saying that your basement isn't a basement? It's...another dimension?"

"Precisely, yes. The normal laws of physical space don't apply here. The room simply adapts to our needs." Rachel snapped her fingers, and suddenly we were back in the party room. She snapped them again, and we were in what looked like a gigantic gym, filled with every piece of gym equipment you could imagine, and a bunch of other stuff that looked like it came from some sort of military training camp – targets, human-looking dummies, an obstacle course – and then, with another snap, we were back where we started.

"Holy shit...how...how did you do that?" My head spun, and I felt slightly nauseous. "And please, for the love of Mr. Schue's sweater vest collection, _warn_ me next time, okay?"

"I'm sorry," she said, hurrying over to a corner of the room where a cube refrigerator sat. I heard more than saw her open it, my mind and guts still both reeling a little, and then she was pressing a small bottle of cold water into my hand. "Here. Drink this. It will help."

I did as she advised, taking a deep gulp. The icy liquid was refreshing, and the headache I'd felt developing was instantly gone, along with all the aches and pains I'd acquired during Cheerios practice. I stared at the water bottle, wondering what the hell was in it.

" _Acqua fantastica,_ " Rachel said. "Water from the First Spring. The nourishing liquid of creation itself, according to my fathers' research."

I turned my stare from the bottle to her, a few choice words in reply all cued up in my head and ready to roll off my tongue - but after what she'd just done with the basement, I decided not to risk the chance that the place really _did_ have a dungeon. Suddenly, I _really_ didn't want to end up there, because who knew what might come out once Rachel was done singing...?

She took a sip from her own bottle and pointed to a rather soft-looking black sofa. "Why don't we sit down now, and you can tell me exactly what happened the other day?" she asked gently.

"That sounds like a _capital_ idea," I said, wondering once again just what I'd gotten myself into as I plopped myself down onto the couch.

The sofa was incredibly comfortable, so comfortable that I felt a strong urge to just curl up and take a nice nap for the next half-century or so, but Rachel's inquisitive eyes held me like a steel trap. I couldn't look away, so I let out a long sigh and started to tell the story.

"So, it's like this: I was at a party last weekend – a Cheerios party, obviously – and this guy rolls up on me and starts coming on to me with, like, the lamest pickup lines you've ever heard. He's one of these rich, good-looking, smug, entitled, egotistical white boys from Lima Heights, born on third base and thinks he hit a triple kind of guy, all perfectly coiffed hair and immaculate clothing – like, seriously, he made Kurt look like a slob – and his _look at me, I'm so perfect_ attitude annoyed the hell out of me from jump."

Rachel nodded, her expression so serious and thoughtful that I almost laughed. Seriously, she looked like a therapist; I wanted to hand her a pen and note pad and start talking about my childhood. Then I remembered the part of the story I wanted to forget - the part I'd have to relate next - and whatever humorous thoughts I had flew right out of my head.

"Go on," she said, smiling what I guess was meant to be an encouraging smile, though I didn't feel encouraged in the least. "I know this is difficult – encounters between humans and demons always are – but it's important that you tell me as much as you can." Her hand reached down to cover mine reassuringly; I hadn't realized that it was trembling until that moment. Her eyes held me still, and somewhere deep inside, I found the strength to continue the story.

"He told me that he always gets what he wants, and he never takes no for an answer. And he'd heard, even at Carmel or Dalton or wherever he goes, that I 'never say no.' Then he...he put his hand on my arm, and it felt so...so _cold._ Like, cold to the bone. I've never felt anything like that in my life. And he looked at me with this...this weird combination of desire and complete disdain, like I was just...just a _toy_ for his amusement. Like he'd just as soon dissect me as fuck me. It was so creepy and repellent and all kinds of disgusting, but his grip...it was really strong. And there was this...this _smell..._ wafting off him, coming from him in waves. I can't describe it – no one else seemed to notice it, but it just seeped into my nose, into my skin, and all I wanted to do was get up, run out of there and wash it away, scrub myself until I got clean again."

At this point, I was shaking and trying desperately to hold back tears, feeling as though I was reliving the encounter all over again. I could almost feel his eyes on me, and my arm began to ache where he'd touched me. His cold breath tickled my cheek again, his tongue darting out to touch my ear as he whispered to me in a smooth, calm, yet utterly deadly voice.

"I – I told him to fuck off, that there was no way in hell he'd ever get all up on this...that – that I was way out of his league, and besides that, the only straight I am is straight up bitch, but even if he was a she, he'd still have no shot." I felt Rachel's fingers thread through mine, felt the strength in them, her eyes never leaving me, even though my head was down and my own eyes were firmly shut. "And...and then...I felt something prick at my arm. He...had _claws,_ or talons, or whatever you wanna call them. He had fucking _claws_ , and they were - they were cutting me, knifing into my flesh. The pain was - it was excruciating, like literally nothing I've ever experienced. I was terrified _._ But I still told him no. No, and _fuck no._ "

I sobbed outright then, not even caring that I was doing so in front of Rachel. The memory of what happened next was almost too much to bear, almost more than I could put into words, but her calm, solid presence enabled me to find my voice, wet and raspy with tears and remembered horror though it was.

"That was when he said, 'On this pathetic Earthly plane, I am known as Jesse. Jesse St. James. But in other worlds, other realms, I am known by names that your sadly undeveloped human tongues could never hope to pronounce. Names that inspire fear, and terror, and nightmares unending. You could have had pleasure and riches beyond your wildest dreams, had you but chosen to give yourself to me. But no – you chose to insult me instead. That was a mistake."

" _Senjems,_ " Rachel whispered. "One of the cruelest, most vicious and sadistic of all the demon sects."

"You...you know them."

"I know about most of the major fifth-level sects. Some choose to stay hidden and work in the shadows, but not this one. I'm not going to lie, Santana. This is _not_ good." The grim tone of Rachel's voice made me shudder once again. From out of nowhere, she produced a tissue, handing it to me so I could dry my eyes, wipe my nose and regain some semblance of dignity. I gave her a smile of thanks. "The only saving grace in this situation is that the _Senjems_ clan has a sense of honor, which can work in our favor. I'm assuming that this... _Jesse_ made some reference to this?"

"Yeah. He said something about how fortunate I was that he wasn't as lacking in honor as I was in manners – like _I_ was the asshole in that situation – and that he would allow me to find a champion to defend my honor against his. Pretty fucked up sense of chivalry, if you ask me."

 _And then he laughed as he showed me his true form. No one else saw, but I did. The perfectly coiffed hair, the moisturized skin, the tailored clothes...all of it disappeared, and I looked into the face of sheer malice. The incarnation of despite for all other beings in existence, whom the demon clearly considered its inferiors. Its huge form bulked menacingly, towering above me, a picture of horror. Its mocking smile became a sneer, exposing row upon row of jagged teeth in a mouth large enough to swallow me whole, and its cold yellow eyes regarded me as though I was an insect it could flick out of existence – which, I realized, I was. And then I passed out._

 _"..._ and when I woke up, it felt like I'd been out for hours, but it was really only a couple of minutes. Quinn and Brittany had no idea that anything had happened. We stayed at the party for a couple more hours, and then we left. I didn't see any sign of him again."

Rachel let out a long, slow whistle, a hollow sound that echoed off the basement's high ceiling. "Thank you, once again, Santana, for trusting me with this." She stood up, and because I didn't know what else to do, I stood up too. "I'm so sorry that this demon chose to inflict itself upon you, but the good news is that you're safe now."

I blinked, startled. "Wait, what? What do you mean, I'm safe now? There's a fifth-level demon – whatever _that_ means - out there who wants to do who knows _what_ to me. And just because I talked to you, I'm safe? Just like that?"

She took a deep breath, and I couldn't help but watch her abs ripple beneath her tan skin. Then an image of the demon's clawed hand, a hand the size of a Christmas ham, tearing through them like tissue paper, came to me. I had to shake my head to clear it away. The thought of any harm coming to Rachel as a result of what I'd done made me feel sick. I drank some more of the water to ease the nausea.

"That's how it works, Santana. A sense of honor is a rare thing in a demon," Rachel said. "And honestly, that's the only reason you're alive right now - because a fifth-level demon, as I told you the other day in school, is nothing to be trifled with."

"Yeah, I kinda got that."

Rachel took both my hands in hers and fixed me with another very serious look. It was her _you really have to pay attention right now_ look,a look I usually ignored, because it was the one she wore in Glee when she was about to explain yet again why she deserved the solo over everybody else. But I didn't dare ignore it now.

"Your attitude likely amused as much as angered it, but an insult is an insult nonetheless. Understand this: fifth-level demons are very powerful. They are creatures of rage, powered by hate and chaos. They feed on pain. They live for torture, for inflicting suffering on others. Brutality is second nature to them, yet what they crave most isn't fear, but respect. They see themselves as noble, somehow. That's where the honor code comes in, and now it's the only chance I've got to drive this thing out of Lima and back to the Fifth Realm where it belongs."

"You make it sound like I've got nothing to do with any of this anymore. I...I don't understand."

Rachel sighed wearily, and belatedly, I realized that I wasn't the only one who'd been stressing out over this whole demon thing. Apparently, she had too.

"My fathers were Lima's guardians against this kind of thing for a long time, Santana," she said, and her eyes looked past me at some memory, some time in the past, a time when fighting demons was just a theory for her and not a reality. "Until I turned sixteen. Then the mantle of guardianship passed to me. The first time I faced a demon, it had control of my mother. She was its thrall, and I...I nearly lost her. Ever since then, I've trained my body, mind and soul every bit as hard as I trained my voice, and I've gotten better and better with each demon I've fought. But this is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done."

Shocked, I wanted to ask her just what had gone down with Shelby - hey, it's probably a fascinating story - but the pain in Rachel's eyes warned me off that particular subject.

Then she regained their focus, her gaze locking with mine.

"I'm your champion, Santana. That means you're off the hook."

I grabbed her hands, squeezed them hard. Tears came to my eyes once more, and my voice was a harsh gasp as I pleaded with her. "No, no. I can't – I can't let you do this, Rachel. I don't deserve it, after everything I've said, everything I've done to you. I'm not worth it."

"Oh, Santana. Of course you're worth it. Do you really think any of that matters now? I told you before: I'm the only person who can do this. It's what I have to do." She sighed, looking down at our joined hands. "So go home, get some rest, and I'll see you on Monday."

I refused to let her hands go, feeling consumed with worry, sick with fear and guilt. I didn't want to see her suffer because of me, but it seemed like I had no choice in the matter. Apparently, even demon fights had rules, and Rachel has always been one to follow the rules.

"What...what are you going to do? I mean, no offense, but that thing is a _lot_ bigger than you. I don't see what you can do against it. Unless you plan to, like, _sing_ it to death."

She smiled at that, releasing my hands, and my heart lightened a little. "I may be small, Santana, but what you felt when I hugged you was only a mere fraction of my strength. And I have a lot of other tricks up my sleeve – well, when I'm _wearing_ sleeves, anyway." She chuckled at her own joke, but when she flexed her arms unexpectedly to accentuate the punch line, I nearly swooned; she chuckled again, and I knew she'd seen my eyes widen, heard my breath catch at the sight.

 _Damn. Two tickets to the gun show, please._

Her smile told me she was pleased at my reaction, but then her expression turned serious again. "Don't worry about me. And don't tell anybody – not Brittany, not Quinn, and _especially_ not Kurt, Mercedes or Tina. Those three _live_ for gossip, as you know. This is not the kind of gossip anybody needs to hear."

"What, like they'd believe me if I told them anyway? You think Quinn's gonna buy that you're sporting a killer body underneath those terrible animal sweaters? Not in a million years."

"You're probably right about that," Rachel replied, blushing at the compliment. "But all the same, it's best if you don't mention anything about any of this to anybody. Fifth-level demons may be honorable, but they're not always predictable." Her tone was low and deadly serious. "If you were to anger it further by revealing its presence in Lima to anyone but me, outside the safety of this house...well, I'd rather not think about the possible repercussions that might result."

I didn't want to think about it either. "Noted."

"Well, then. I should get back to my training," Rachel said. "But where are my manners? I'm so sorry, Santana. I'll walk you out."

I bit my lip, torn between an acute desire to watch Rachel train and an almost equally strong desire to go home, get into bed and pull the blankets over my head until Monday morning arrived. My extreme exhaustion finally won out, surprisingly, so I nodded for Rachel to begin the climb up those damned stone stairs. And as we trudged our way upwards, I silently swore to myself that no matter what the half-pint said, I'd be back to help her in any way I could.

 _There's no way in hell I'm going to let her face that monster alone - 'cause no one gets to mess with my hobbit but ME._


	3. Chapter 3

**Ungodly Forces**

 _ **Chapter Two: Locker Room Talk (Or, My Eyes Are Up Here)**_

From the Diary of Santana Lopez:

Monday morning Cheerios practices are the worst. Yes, even worse than Saturday morning Cheerios practices. Okay, yeah, they all suck, but Monday mornings suck most of all. After a normal Sunday, the one day we all get to rest (because Coach Sue had never been able to find a way around that particular law), getting up at the ass crack of dawn to head back to the practice field is just about the worst thing ever. It's so hard to get up and get motivated to please Coach even after a good night's sleep, but after my meeting with Rachel on Saturday, my mind was anywhere but on our latest new routine.

As it was, I was barely able to get through all my homework and then sleep while trying not to think about the whole demon thing – or about Rachel. Ever since my meeting with the New Directions' resident diva, I've been having some very seriously steamy thoughts about her, and it's freaking me out more than a little bit. My dreams on both Saturday and Sunday nights were an extremely weird, unsettling mishmash of dark, demonic nightmares that left me shaking, and hot, delicious visions of me and Rachel that had my lady parts aching. Between the two, I had to change my bed clothes multiple times, and take several long, cold showers just to relieve the tension in my limbs (and elsewhere).

So, needless to say, I was definitely not in the mood for anybody's shit this morning, which naturally guaranteed that I was going to get a whole bunch of it from a bunch of different sources, starting with Coach Sue herself.

"Sandbags! You're sleepwalking!" she yelled through her goddamned ever-present megaphone. God, how I'd love to shove that thing down her throat one of these days. "Maybe a few extra laps might wake you all up? _Huh?_ How would you sloppy babies like _that?_ "

The entire squad groaned, and Quinn actually had the temerity to glare at me, like she wasn't just as tired as I was. Britt tried to make up for it with her usual small smile, but I knew that I was fucking things up. I just didn't care. Not today. Maybe not ever again.

Still, I tried to step up my game, for their sake if nobody else's, and because I really didn't feel like doing any extra laps. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate, but it seemed like every time I did, visions of the demon warred for dominion over my subconscious with visions of Rachel. This, as you've probably guessed, did not make for a sterling practice session, as hard as I tried. Coach Sue's words fell like lashes on the rest of the squad as we dejectedly hobbled off the field and into the locker room, but I found that I felt nothing at all save for the familiar disgust for the woman that I never voiced aloud within the halls of McKinley.

"God, Santana – you look _awful,_ " Quinn said helpfully as we peeled off our sweat-sodden uniforms. "What _happened_ to you over the weekend? You didn't answer any of my texts or return my calls. It didn't occur to you that I might be worried?"

"Thanks, Q," I replied, too tired and out of sorts to come up with one of my usual barbed responses. Her eyebrow went up in surprise, but when she said nothing, I continued lamely, "No, really. I appreciate it. I've just been dealing with some stuff."

"Like what? You haven't actually gone out with that gross Jesse guy, have you? Please tell me you haven't. Because I thought you'd finally accepted -"

"Shut _up,_ Q." I glared at her, and the bitch only smiled back at me in return. "No, I haven't gone out with him. Even if I were on that team, he wouldn't be my type. _Please_. Boy had more product in his hair than Mr. Schue and Blaine combined."

Another Cheerio invaded our space at that moment, a red-headed girl who'd come over from Carmel and quickly become one of Coach Sue's favorite newbies, so Q and I had been treating her with relative kid gloves – a fact which had not, unfortunately, gone unnoticed by her.

" _I_ know what's going on with her," she said smugly. "I saw her leaving that Glee girl Rachel Berry's house on Saturday."

"Yes, _and?"_ Quinn said, her voice all ice and implied menace. "We practice new songs at each others' houses all the time."

The girl laughed, a short, sharp, ugly sound. "Is that what you Gleeks call it now?" " _Practicing songs?_ " She made air quotes with her fingers. _"_ I mean, we all know about you, Lopez. Now that you and Brittany aren't together anymore, you've moved on – and hey, I don't think there's anything wrong with that." Quinn's eyes narrowed dangerously, and the girl backed up a step and put up her hands as if to say, w _hoa._ "But that Berry girl? _Really?_ I just - I just would have thought you had higher standards, that's all."

Quinn stood up, ready to hand this girl's ass to her, but I held her back with an outstretched arm. Rachel may not necessarily be Q's favorite person in the world, but they _are_ friends, and she wasn't about to listen to this bitch from fucking Carmel talk shit about her.

"You don't talk to your co-captain like that," she hissed. "And you don't talk about Rachel like that either, you -"

"Hold up, Q. I got this." Britt finally appeared from wherever she'd been – probably talking to Becky Jackson, God knows why – coming up behind Quinn, silently putting her hands on my co-captain's shoulders. "You don't know the first thing about Rachel Berry, okay? So you'd best keep her name out of your mouth, unless you wants me to go all Lima Heights on your skinny ass."

"That doesn't exactly sound like a denial," she said, trying and failing to keep the fear out of her voice as I stared at her. "I say you spent the afternoon enjoying some sweet Berry juice, and I don't hear you saying otherwise."

I felt the eyes of the other Cheerios in the room on us, even as my body betrayed me by heating up at the words _enjoying some sweet Berry juice._ Quinn looked like she was about ready to pounce on the bitch, but Brittany had shifted her grip from her shoulders to her waist, and we've both learned that if Britts is holding on to you, you're not going anywhere until she lets you go.

"I don't have to explain anything to you. You might have been hot shit at Carmel, but here? You're nothing," I stepped into the girl's personal space, getting so in her face that our noses were practically touching. "You're _nobody_. And you're certainly not one-tenth the person Rachel is. So I'll say it again, because you're new here, and apparently a slow learner besides: don't _ever_ let me or Brittany or Q hear you say anything about Rachel – not even her _name_ \- again." I pushed her back, _hard,_ against the lockers, and held her there with an arm resting lightly across her throat. "Because if you do, nothing will save you. We will make it our fucking mission in life to destroy you. Understand? We will _end_ you. And that's _not_ a threat. It's a promise." I smiled. "See, there's a reason they call us the Unholy Trinity, after all."

And then, delivering the knockout punch as only she can, Quinn said, "Want to find out what it is? _Try us._ I guarantee you won't like what happens if you do."

The silence that followed was so absolute that you could hear the girl's knees knocking together in fear, although she tried to keep something resembling a defiant expression on her face, from which the color had drained completely. The Unholy Trinity's reputation extended well past the hallways and practice fields of McKinley, even to the pristine classrooms and indoor facilities of Carmel High. We take a kind of perverse pride in that fact; the ghostly white pallor and shifting eyes of the idiot girl in front of me was proof of it.

"Brittany – got anything to add?" I asked. Her normal happy, bubbly demeanor was replaced by a flat expression that was frightening in its complete blankness. Honestly, as scary as Quinn and I can be, there's nothing scarier than quiet Brittany.

"Normally, I'm all _stop the violence_ ," she said in a voice as flat as the look on her face. "But in this case, I can make an exception. Say something mean about Rachel again, and..." Her voice trailed off. She didn't need to finish the sentence to make her point.

I released the girl, and she coughed and sputtered, stumbling forward slightly. She stared, open mouthed, at the three of us. A fire of hate and fear blazed in her eyes, and I knew we'd made an enemy – which, honestly, is nothing new for us. That's part of the territory that comes with being the three top bitches on the squad.

"Okay, then. I trust we won't be needing to have this conversation again. Because if we do - " I paused for dramatic effect. "There will be no talking. Only pain, misery and regret. Got it?"

The girl just continued to glare at us in that pathetic, angry way that people who have just been embarrassed and humiliated always do.

Quinn cleared her throat, loudly. "Your co-captain asked you a question. _Got it?"_

"Got it," she spat. "Clear as crystal."

"Good. Now go run fifty laps." I pointed at two gawking baby Cheerios. "You two. Watch her. Make sure she finishes. If she says anything, or does anything besides run, you let one of us know and we'll deal with it."

"Yes, Captain," they said in unison – shocked, no doubt, that I'd even noticed they were there.

Satisfied, I turned around, my back to the girl, knowing that the two baby Cheerios had her by the arms and were ready to drag her out of the locker room if necessary. I heard a sound behind me, a wordless expression of frustration and fury, and offered only a soft chuckle in response. Then I heard three sets of feet marching out of the locker room, followed by stunned silence.

"As you were, everyone," Quinn barked. "Show's over. Shower and change. _Now._ "

The low buzz and hum of hushed conversation filled the locker room once more, and the three of us locked eyes, sharing a proud, pleased smile. _Unholy Trinity forever, bitches._

* * *

After the long, wearying day at school, I found myself at Rachel's house again. This time, I made sure to look around in all directions in an effort to catch anyone who might have followed, or was watching me, before I made my way up to her front door. I didn't know how that stupid Cheerio saw me last time, but I wasn't about to make the mistake of allowing myself to be seen by anyone again. Even though I don't really care all that much if anybody does, to be honest. Knowing there's an otherworldly creature out there that's looking to separate your head from your body will cause you to reevaluate your priorities in a hurry. These days, I find myself caring a lot less about the opinions of other people and a lot more about my own where mini-Streisand is concerned – because those others can't keep said creature from killing me, and Rachel can.

At least, that's what she says. I was still having more than a little trouble believing it myself when I rang her doorbell for the second time in three days.

She answered the door much more quickly this time, and strangely, she looked completely unsurprised to see me standing there, even though I hadn't told her I'd be coming over. For my part, I was disappointed to see that she was completely covered up in what looked like the fluffiest bathrobe ever made. Even her calves were hidden from view, to my dismay.

"Hello, Santana. It's nice to see you again," she said, smiling brightly as she stepped aside to let me enter. "I was just about to swim a few laps. I find it helps to calm me when my nerves get a little frayed." She pushed the door closed. I took off my jacket, but she made no effort to take it from me this time, so I just held on to it, feeling a little awkward. "You're welcome to come in and sit at the pool – or you can join me if you like. I should have a swimsuit that fits – well, mostly." Her eyes darted to my chest, across which the letters **WMHS** stretched in red and white lettering, then darted away just as quickly. "Your proportions are...a _bit_ different from mine, but I'm certain we could find a way to make it work."

 _Oh my God,_ I thought. _Is she...is she_ _ **flirting**_ _with me?_ I wasn't aware that Rachel even knew what flirting was, much less how to do it.

"Um, I don't think so. Not really much in the mood to get all wet right now."

"That's too bad," she said, and suddenly her voice was all low and husky, and her eyes were decidedly a shade darker as they looked me up and down. "Would have been... _fun."_

A shot of heat went straight to my core, and there was no longer any doubt: Rachel _definitely_ knew what flirting was, and damn if she wasn't actually pretty good at it. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard, seriously reconsidering the option of trying to squeeze myself into one of Rachel's swimsuits just to have some splishy-splashy time with her.

An image of me and Rachel in the pool races through my mind, playing like a hot, steamy movie: her pinning me against the wall of the pool, holding me there with the overwhelming strength of her arms, pressing her small but powerful body against me, my head thrown back as she's kissing and licking a trail of fire down my neck, the water swirling all around us as she keeps me completely under her control...

It was enough to make me gasp out loud as I fought to keep my arousal under control, hoping desperately that Rachel hadn't heard. Very quickly, I realized that I wanted her in a way I hadn't wanted anyone in a long time...more, in fact, than I'd ever wanted anyone before. But was that because she was so incredibly (and unexpectedly) sexy - or because the threat of the demon had already made me so fearful that I might die any day now that I was afraid I'd never get to be with anyone again?

Either way, I was beginning to think that being around Rachel might be the death of me, if the demon wasn't – but at least with Rachel, it would be a very pleasant way to go.

"Santana?" Rachel's voice cut through the haze of my thoughts. "Are you...are you all right?"

Normally, my natural impulse would have been to get annoyed with her for interrupting my delightful daydream, but the look of care and concern on her face was so earnest that I just couldn't summon up even the slightest bit of anger. I reminded myself once again that she's pretty much my only hope of seeing my next birthday, and when I looked into the deep brown pools of her large, expressive eyes and saw the sincere emotion reflected there, I got the impression that she actually cares about my survival as much as I do.

"Yeah...yeah, I'm fine, fun size." She smiled at the whimsical nickname, and I smiled back in spite of myself. "I'm...just fine."

"Good," she said. "For a moment, I was afraid you might faint. I thought I might have to revive you with some mouth to mouth resuscitation."

My thighs clenched together at the silky tone with which she'd said those last few words. _Ay, dios mio,_ I thought. _She's going to kill me with all this flirting._

"You wish," I said, but there was no bite to the words.

She laughed, clearly recognizing my reply for the lame jab it was. "Come on, then." She gestured for me to join her. "I'm glad you're here. I want to know how you're doing." We began walking down the hallway to the basement door, her arm linking around mine, the softness of her robe cool and soothing against my skin. "On the surface, you seemed to be okay in school, but I...I could tell that something was bothering you."

Score one for Rachel and her powers of observation. I've always been one to keep my feelings very closely guarded, but Rachel has this really annoying ability to see past whatever mask I'm wearing and zero right in on the truth. The door opened, giving me a moment to think about how I should respond. The incident in the locker room had bothered me all day, more than I'd let on to Britt and Quinn, and I'd been wondering about what kind of repercussions it would bring. I didn't know all much about the bitch from Carmel, but I _did_ know that she probably wasn't going to just take what we'd done to her without retaliating in some way. I couldn't shake the feeling that _something_ was going to happen, and it wasn't going to be good.

The torches came to life as soon as our feet touched the steps, and I thought about whether I could even say anything about it. I didn't want to tell her anything that would upset her. Yeah, I know she's a demon-fighting badass, but even badasses don't like hearing mean stuff being said about them. Nobody does, really. Not even me.

"I...it's Jesse – I mean, the demon," I lied. "I haven't been sleeping well since...you know. Bad dreams."

"That's common in these situations. I can mix up something for you that might help, if you want. In fact, I insist on it. I've been needing to brush up on my elixir-making skills, and this is a perfect opportunity to do so."

I nearly stumbled at that. Yes, this is what my life has become. " _Please_ tell me you did _not_ just say _elixir-making skills_. Because, seriously, that is _not_ a combination of words that any normal person should _ever_ have coming out of her mouth."

"You should know by now, Santana, that I am far, _far_ from normal. My fathers and I accepted that about me a long time ago."

"Can't argue with that," I said, laughing. "You're one of a kind, for sure. And that's a good thing. I don't think the world could handle two of you, and there's only enough room on Broadway for one, anyway."

"Assuming I _get_ to Broadway," she quietly replied. I hated the tone of sadness and uncertainty in her voice. "Demon fighting is a dangerous business."

"Hey. Stop that. You've fought for everything your whole life: the singing and dancing competitions you've won, the friendship and respect of everyone in the glee club, not to mention every solo...you'll fight this too, and you'll win." I couldn't help but remember the way things used to be between us, and suddenly I felt a twinge of guilt. "I...I know I used to call you a loser back in the day, but you're anything but that. You're a winner. You always have been."

"Thank you, Santana. It's sweet of you to say that."

"And it has the added benefit of being true. Because you know that Auntie Tana speaks only the truth."

"Except when she doesn't want to air out Cheerios business with someone who's not on the squad."

That brought me up short. I blinked in astonishment. "How – how did you – I mean, no, that's not -"

"It's all right. I understand your desire to keep what goes on in the locker room confined to the locker room. You have a loyalty to the squad just as you have a loyalty to the glee club. It's a delicate balance sometimes, I imagine. It's just...I have kind of a sixth sense about this kind of thing. That girl could be trouble for you. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"What?" I scoffed. "No way. I appreciate your concern, but trust me – Q, Britts and I have the situation fully under control. If she so much as sets a toe out of line, we'll know, and we'll deal with it."

"I'm sure you're right," Rachel said brightly, but I wasn't sure she really believed it. She hopped down from the final step onto the basement floor, which was in study mode. I guess that was the default setting.

"Where's the pool?" I asked. "Is it, like, under the floor or something?"

She laughed, and the sound warmed me. I wondered for a moment whether I liked her laugh better than her singing voice, or if it was the other way around.

"No, silly. I know you remember how this room works, since you were just here on Saturday." She raised her hand, fingers poised to snap. "Fair warning – brace yourself."

"Thanks. I'm good." My stomach flipped. I wasn't sure if it was because the room was about to do its weird changing thing, or because of the way Rachel was looking at me. "Let 'er rip."

I closed my eyes and heard the snap of her fingers, sharp and clear as the crack of a whip. The sense of dizziness and disorientation I'd experienced the last time came back, along with a loud roaring in my ears. It lasted for only a second or two, but felt much longer.

"I don't think I'm ever gonna get used to that," I murmured. My insides churned.

Rachel produced another bottle of that _acqua fantastica_ stuff from one of the two large pockets in her fluffy robe, offering it without a word. Gratefully, I took it from her, opening it and taking a sip; once again, the nausea subsided.

"Better?" she asked, peering at me. Amusement mixed with genuine concern in her fathomless brown eyes.

"Better," I admitted. "Thanks."

I handed the bottle back to her as I looked around me for the first time. Taking in the size of the room, and then the enormous pool that dominated the center of it, I gasped. The place looked like a larger, better equipped and maintained version of the McKinley swim team's pool. The water shimmered and sparkled in the glowing torchlight, taking on a spooky, almost mystical quality.

"Impressive, isn't it? I love the water." She hugged herself, smiling softly as she followed my gaze into the pool. "It's so soothing and relaxing. I find it to be an _amazing_ stress reducer."

The vision I'd had of us in the pool together crashed through my mind once again, and suddenly, all I could think was how much I'd like her to reduce _my_ stress in there.

"Yeah...I can imagine. It's really beautiful," I said lamely, trying to hide my returning arousal. Her eyes glowed like candles, meeting mine, and again, I couldn't look away. Not that I particularly wanted to, of course.

Especially when she dropped her robe to reveal the barely there bikini she was hardly wearing.

Suddenly, my gaze went a lot lower, and the warmth at my center kindled into a fierce, white hot blaze. Her tan skin was so smooth, so inviting, and oh God, her body - all those hard curves positively made me ache with want. She looked like a sculpted, chiseled work of art brought spectacularly to life. Every inch of her was so perfectly shaped, so ridiculously defined that I suddenly wanted to drop to my knees and beg to lick and touch and caress her, starting with her strong calves, moving up to her muscled thighs, and then to those glorious, glorious abs...

"Santana?" Rachel's voice invaded my fantasy - which was, I have to admit, about to get embarrassingly out of control. She giggled softly as she stepped forward and gently lifted my head with a finger beneath my chin. Her full, sensuous lips brushed my cheek, her breath light and warm against my already hot skin. "My eyes are up here."

It was all I could do to clench my hands into fists at my sides to keep them from grabbing her face and smashing our lips together right then and there. With my eyes shut tight, I felt her move away, heard her light laugh and then the splash of water as she dove into the pool.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks to all of you out there who've followed and favorited this story so far! I really can't begin to tell you how much the positive response means to me. Please keep the feedback coming! PMs and reviews are welcomed, encouraged and greatly appreciated. And thanks - as always - to the amazing trio of purrpickle, hayleynymphadora and beebeeborez for being incredible people and incredible friends.  
**


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